


Yourself. Yourselves. Each Other. Whatever.

by tacky_tramp



Category: Watchmen
Genre: Kinkmeme, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-26
Updated: 2009-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacky_tramp/pseuds/tacky_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to watch you fuck yourself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yourself. Yourselves. Each Other. Whatever.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the Watchmen kink meme](http://watchmenkink.livejournal.com/638.html?thread=49790&format=light#t49790).

"I don't know what stimulates you anymore."

She hates it when he says that. When he whines. She never would have thought that a transcendent being of pure energy who mastered the space-time continuum could be such a whiner.

But there's hurt in his voice (unless she's just imagining it's there so she can believe he's still somehow human), so she sighs with a puff of air that fluffs her bangs. She faces him. All the copies of him, which he's made for her benefit. It's disturbing, of course, but oddly sweet, too. The effort he puts in to please her. (Does this take effort? Does anything take effort for him?) She wants to make him happy, always does and never knows how, but now she knows he'll be happy if he feels useful.

"All right, then," she says. "I want to watch you fuck yourself."

He looks at her with that same expression he always wears -- serene interest, mild tenderness, equal parts vulnerability and confidence -- his head tilting slightly to one side. Heads. They're all watching her. She crosses her arms around her breasts, suddenly feeling exposed and freakish. (Feeling like a freak around Jon. Rich.) She shrugs uncomfortably under his gaze. "That would ... stimulate me."

He nods. Some of the Jons merge together until there are just two of them left. They face back-to-front, and one of them bends at the waist, the other reaching for his dick ---

"No! No." She squeezes her eyes shut. "Do it like with me. Seduce yourself. Yourselves. Each other. Whatever." She manages a smile of encouragement.

He pauses to reflect on this, which relieves her: it feels much more normal if he's confused about how to proceed. Then he's figured it out, decisiveness written on his face as clear as when he devises a new innovation for Veidt's contraption, and he's moving again. Now, though, each Jon has taken on his own persona. One of them is in the lead. Reaches out, places his hands on the other's shoulders, leans in. And the other is shyer, ducking his head a little before turning his face up and offering his lips. The two perfect blue bodies meld into the most natural embrace in the world.

It's lovely, and she doesn't want to interrupt. (Not that that makes any goddamn sense.) But she clears her throat. They turn, and she leads them back toward the bed. (Easier by the the minute to think of the bodies in front of her as "them" instead of "him.") There's a chair against the wall, and she sits primly on its egde. Looks up expectantly. Even gives a little wave of her hand: continue. They reach for each other again.

She could get used to this.


End file.
